


Something New, Something Missing

by Peccatium



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Amnesia, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Animal Abuse, Animal Death, Aziraphale calls Crowley love, BAMF Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley Whump (Good Omens), Demon Summoning, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, I'm Sorry, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Revenge is had, Summoning, Tags May Change, They're already dead, also not shown, everyone's a dear but Crowley is his love, kind of character death but he comes back, not shown
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-24
Updated: 2020-02-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:00:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22389088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Peccatium/pseuds/Peccatium
Summary: All Aziraphale found when he arrived was Crowley's dead body. He dropped to the floor and pulled him into his lap, not caring that he got blood all over his clothes. Pressing their foreheads together, he began to sob.He couldn't heal him.He was already gone.In one last desperate attempt, he looked up, and prayed to the Almighty.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 54





	1. Black Paint on Cold Concrete

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been ages since I last wrote something. I'm out of practice but I'm trying :D

Crowley was napping on the plush sofa in Aziraphale's bookshop, which had become a habit since the Not End of the World, when he felt it. A slight tugging sensation deep in his core that roused him. He couldn't quite place the feeling, but it was familiar and vaguely threatening, even though he didn’t know why. And it was getting stronger. 

He pushed himself up to look for his angel, that he could hear puttering around the shop somewhere. 

Crowley almost landed face-first on the floor when he stood up, and a powerful wave pulled him sideways. "Aziraphale!" he called out as navigated between the shelves. 

He could hear the angel coming towards him, but he was too busy not falling over, while every atom in his body felt like it was being yanked toward some unknown location. It felt like he was standing farther to the side than he actually was and left him terribly disoriented.

When Aziraphale came into view, he immediately went to the demons side, holding onto both of Crowley's arms to keep him steady. "What's wrong, dear? What's going on?" he asked with concern shown clearly on his face.

"I don't know! Something's wrong. I feel- I feel..." he answered but trailed off as he suddenly realized what was going on. "I'm being summoned!" The sensation of being pulled was almost unbearable now, and Crowley realized he didn't have much time left.

"I don't know where I'm going to end up, but come find me. Okay, angel?" He sounded slightly desperate. "If they can summon me, they know their shit. That never ends well. Come find me!"

"Yes- yes, of course. I will!" Aziraphale tried to reassure him. He's seen this edge of panic in Crowley before… when he asked him to go off to Alpha Centauri. And that had been the end of the world. "I'll come find you. Wherever you are. I promi-"

But suddenly, he was standing alone in his bookshop, looking at the empty spot where Crowley had just been.

He took a slightly shaky breath and began to work on how he could locate the demon, determinately _not_ thinking about what could be happening to him right now.

\--------

The first thing Crowley noticed was that is was freezing, being a sharp contrast to the warm and comfortable bookshop he'd just been standing in.

It wasn't dark though, like one might suspect from a place one gets summoned to. Cold white neon lights illuminated empty walls and a concrete floor, which had the summoning circle he was in drawn on it with thick but precise black paint. It was about as big as Crowley was high, and five people had arranged themselves around it.

They weren't wearing black robes or anything quite so dramatic. In fact, their clothing looked old, worn and a bit ragged. Like something you would usually throw away, or wear when you didn't want your good clothes to get dirty (if you weren't a demon and just assumed that your clothes stayed perfectly clean while repotting a plant). 

Crowley opted for nonchalance, willing his eyes to stop nervously flitting over the runes binding him, as he assessed the situation. These people really knew what they were doing. He could feel his power being drained at an alarming rate. Not to mention the protective shield they'd put around the circle. Trying to force his way out of here would be as effective as running against a wall. If it didn't get broken from an outside physical force, it would hold steady for at least a century.

Someone behind Crowley spoke up. "Demon, state your name." they commanded.

"You summoned me here, so you must already know." Crowley turned around and answered. The person who spoke didn't particularly look like the leader, the same worn clothes like the rest and a stubbly beard, but that was usually the one to start talking first. There was always a leader, but thanks to group dynamics, there was also always a weakest link. Finding them was his best option at the moment. 

While he didn't doubt that Aziraphale would to try everything to find him, he couldn't be sure the angel would be able to. The summoning circle could very well be so strong, that it was suppressing his presence, for all he knew. 

"State your name." the same person demanded again, more forcefully this time.

Crowley didn't like this one bit. They had to know his name. Summoning a demon without it was near impossible. So why did they want him to say his name? He also didn't want to make them mad. Angry summoners were dangerous summoners. He'd learned that the hard way and had the scars to prove it.

He worried his lip before saying, "Crowley". It was a gamble, and he was desperately hoping he hadn't chosen wrong. Names held power and by knowing a demon's name, you could potentially bind them to your will. It hadn't been done in a long, long time, but it was a frankly terrifying possibility.

As soon as he'd said it the guy started chanting lowly under their breath, taking something out of their pants pocket while doing so. Crowley's eyes widened when he saw it was a dagger. Whatever they were doing - it required blood. Fuck.

Without a moment's hesitation, the chanting person pressed the blade into the back of their hand and sliced open the skin. Drops of blood dripped onto the floor where they seemed to fade out of existence. The sacrifice was accepted. The spell worked.

Suddenly Crowley felt like he'd been punched. He doubled over, holding his stomach, even though it was not his body that was being affected, but his soul. A burning pain spread over it. He was being branded!

 _Shit shit shit shit!_ he thought. They did know a binding spell and a fucking powerful one! 

"Demon Crowley," the same person said. "kneel on the floor." Crowley grunted as his legs were forced to bend, knees landing hard on the concrete. His heart was hammering in his chest. This was horrible! They could do whatever they wanted with him, and he'd be unable to stop them! Fuck, if they really wanted to they could make him kill himself and he would have to do it!

A pleased smile appeared on the guys' face while all the other people seemed equally happy, looking at him like he was just an object, theirs so manipulate. 

"Under no circumstances are you to move or make a sound." they commanded, and Crowley felt all his muscles to completely stop, like they were frozen in time. He couldn't move his eyes. They were fixed in a wide-eyed stare forward.

To his horror, the person with the knife came towards him. His heartbeat sped up, and his breathing would have too, if his lungs weren't as immovable as the rest of his body — good thing he technically didn't need to breathe.

The guy disappeared from his field of vision when he went to stand behind him. Without warning, he could feel the sharp edge of the blade, still coated in a bit of the summoner's blood, press against his throat.

_Oh no, of fuck, please don't, stop stop please stop no no no no stop_

In one quick slide, the dagger cut open his arteries. 

Crowley's whole existence was filled with pain. No way to let it out. To make it stop. Couldn't press his hands against the wound in a futile attempt to stop the bleeding. Couldn't scream or sob. It hurt way more than a regular blade would, and he realized it was a blessed dagger. Even without the runes suppressing his powers, he wouldn't be able to heal this cut.

He felt sick as the person walked back to where he could see him. With an utterly calm expression, they took out a cloth and wiped the dagger clean, and Crowley was forced to watch the self satisfied expression on his face. 

Somewhere to his left, a door opened, and something was rolled in, rattling. A metal table on wheels came into view, but he couldn't see onto it. Another wave of panic overcame him when a few of the summoners started to inspect the items on it, picking a few up, and holding them where Crowley could see.

Saws, knives, scissors, pliers, and what looked like shears made for cutting bone. 

He was going to die. He was going to die, and they were going to dismember him!

His heart sped up even more as adrenaline rushed through him, pushing his blood faster and faster out of his body. Crowley could feel it running down his neck, soaking into his clothes where it began to cool. It was making him nauseous. His tear ducts seemed to be unaffected by the command to not move, and his eyes began to water. He was _not_ going to _cry_ in front of these fucking people!

But he couldn't blink the tears away and so slowly and completely silent they started to roll down his cheeks and neck, mixing with his blood.

Crowley was starting to get dizzy. From time to time, one of the summoners looked over to him, probably to check if he'd died yet.

He was tired. There was no way he was going to survive this. No way to stop himself from discorporating, and then he'll be sent down to hell. They wouldn't give him a new body. He'll be trapped. And there'll be a lot of angry demons, who want revenge for the stopped apocalypse, and it didn't matter that they had Beelzebubs order to leave him alone.

And Aziraphale... At the thought of his angel, fresh tears welled up. He'd never get to see Aziraphale again. And the angel would probably think it was his fault. Stupid, beautiful, loving angel that he was. But Crowley didn't blame him one bit.

At this point, he rather the angel wouldn't find him. What if these people would do the same to him?!

The edges of Crowley's vision started to fade. He was cold. A chilling coldness right down to the bone.

With every bit of energy he had left, his muscles followed the command to stay still. As the last of his strength disappeared, he landed face-first in a puddle of his own blood.

His head felt fuzzy as he passed out, thinking about never seeing Aziraphale again


	2. "Whoops."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He was standing in front of a secluded farmhouse. It looked modern and well kept, but Aziraphale could feel the sadness of the place weight down on him.  
> Something had happened here. Something tragic and horrible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally intended to still be chapter 1 but it got a bit unruly so I decided to make it two chapters.

The back room of the bookshop was completely covered in books, maps, and various magical tools. Aziraphale was leaning over an old tomb, furiously reading through a passage concerning a locating spell.

There were so many, and most of them were made for objects, not people, or people shaped demons. Still, he tried every one, that didn't sound utterly made up. Nothing had worked. He found out that Crowly was still somewhere in England, which was good, but he didn't even know which general direction! North? South? The spells only told him somewhere on the island.

He took a deep breath and stood up. The book's instructions called for a glass of water. Once he'd fetched one, he sat back down and slowly and precisely read the spell. 

Aziraphale stubbornly refused to lose hope, even after all the failed spells. But with the many things he'd tried, it was getting harder and harder. With this spell, however, he was pleasantly surprised.

His eyes lit up as a small dot of light appeared as if it was floating in the liquid. Quickly he moved the glass around himself in a circle, like the spell required. The light changed brightness, depending on which direction he looked. He shakily smiled; he'd been anticipating another disappointment. But the spell worked! He could find Crowley! 

With new determination and the glass in hand, he stood up and began to walk. _I'm coming, Crowley. I'm coming to find you. Please be okay…_

\--------

A small continued miracle kept him from walking into anything on his path. His eyes never leaving the light for long, and only to look at the roads to assert which one would take him to his destination the fastest. The closer he got, the brighter the light became until he was standing in front of a secluded farmhouse. It looked modern and well kept, but Aziraphale could feel the sadness of the place weight down on him. 

Something had happened here. Something tragic and horrible.

Panic started to rise in him. What if had something to do with whatever was happening to Crowley?! 

Without thinking, he stormed into the house. No one was around, but he followed the feeling of sadness until it because almost overwhelming. Soon he was standing in front of a basement door where it seemed to emanate from.

Another door to the side caught his attention. Heavy spells were woven into the wood, so one could only open it with the right magic. He still couldn't feel Crowley's presence and the soul crushing sadness seemed to come from around here, so he decided he had to make sure Crowley wasn't behind that door. Luckily he was an angel, and the door didn't dare to possibly keep him from his love. 

As soon as it opened, Aziraphale wanted it to be shut again. He was horrified to see the collection of torture devices hung up on the wall.

And then his eyes landed on the black plastic bags in the corner. There were three of them, all full and with a neat knot tied at the top.

But there was a small hole in one of them, and something was sticking out of it — a cat's paw. The fur matted with blood. Its claws must have pieced the plastic, and Aziraphale felt nauseous. He backed away from the room.

 _Crowley_. He had to find Crowley!

Quickly he opened the basement door and descended the stairs. He was suddenly holding a sword. It wasn't _his_ sword, but he didn't think too much about where it came from. The weight of it felt comforting in his hand, and maybe he'll have to defend himself. 

Reaching the last of the steps, he burst through the door at the end of the stairs.

His eyes land immediately on the black summoning circle in the middle of the room and, more importantly, the body lying in it. The body, that was covered in blood, unmoving and looked dead.

Everything seemed to stop for a second.

"What have you done?!" he bellowed. His voice didn't sound entirely human anymore, and some of the people doubled over, pressing their hands against their ears. But Aziraphale didn't notice as he raised the sword, and his wings sprang free.

The summoners began to panic, scrambling away from the current personification of heavenly wreath. They screamed as eyes began to appear all over Aziraphale's body and wings. He began to stalk towards them, hissing and growling in a language that was not human anymore.

The next few minutes were a blur for Aziraphale, filled with screams, cries, and people fleeing. He wasn't keeping track of anything, just giving them a quick, painless death, that they certainly didn't deserve. Not with those godforsaken bags upstairs, the torture devices they'd probably used on something, maybe even _someone_ , and for what they did to Crowley.

He didn't know how long it took, but in the end he was standing in the eerily silent basement, his heavy, but unnecessary breathing the only sound. The bodies disappeared into thin air. Aziraphale didn't want to look at what he'd done. He was shaking slightly. He had lost control, and now people were dead. Dead because of him!

He swallowed and tried to push the feeling of guilt down. The sword still in his hand, he turned towards the summoning circle. He could feel guilty later. Right now, he had more important things to do.

With the edge of the sword he began to scratch away parts of the black paint. Once he was sure the damned thing was useless, he finally looked at the person lying in it.

He drew in a shaky breath at the sight. The pool of blood. The limp body of his love.

The sword fell to the floor with a clang, as he rushed to him.

Aziraphale sank to his knees next to Crowley, his hands hovering over him. The demon looked horribly pale, the drying blood on him dark against his almost white skin. His face seemed peaceful if you ignored the worrying shade of blue his lips had taken.

"Crowley..." Aziraphale whispered before he shook himself briefly, a desperate sort of determination edged itself into his expression. He placed both hands on Crowley back, closed his eyes, and concentrated every bit of healing power he had into the body in front of him. He felt his energy close up the cut and fill his arteries and veins with new blood, cells that had started to decay from loss of oxygen were renewed and the heart began to beat again. Aziraphale jumped a bit when a wheezing sort of noise came from Crowley's body until he realized the lungs had started to breathe. 

None of these functions were technically necessary to keep a corporation alive, the power of whoever inhabited it would simply take over if any of them failed or were consciously stopped. But Crowley's body had died, and his non-corporeal form had left it. Maybe, _maybe_ , if Crowley wasn't down in Hell yet, he could get back into his body if it got revived. 

At least that’s what Aziraphale hoped. Hell was dangerous. He didn't know what they might do to Crowley, or if he'd ever get a new corporation. What if he'd be stuck in Hell forever?!

Aziraphale carefully tuned Crowley's body onto it's back and looked at the slow rise and fall of his chest. He watched for any motion, any twitch, and felt around for Crowley's presence. 

Nothing happened. 

He was alone in the cold room.

"Please, Crowley… _Please_ …" he murmured, and his eyes began to water. Every second that ticked by, a heavier weight seemed to settle on his chest. He tried to cling to the hope that he just couldn't feel Crowley's presence because of the runes, but he couldn't lie to himself. The runes had become useless as soon as the summoning circle they were part of, had been broken. 

A broken sort of whimper made his way out of his throat without his permission, and he pulled the body, his love had once occupied, into his lap. Maybe it was the only thing he'd ever see of him again. 

He could feel it breathing and the heart beating like a sick parody of life, and he couldn't bear the reminder of what he'd lost. Of what he might never have again. The body fell lifeless once again.

They had been on their own side since the Notpocalypse. They had been free. Free to enjoy each other's company and, after some nervous confessions (that may and or may not have involved a tear or two), free to love. 

It was wonderful.

It was way too short.

And Aziraphale couldn't endure the thought of losing it. The quick kisses when one of them went out of the bookshop or flat. The soft conversations. The conversations filled with smiles and laughter. The quiet evenings or the sight of Crowley napping peacefully on the sofa.

He curled around the body in his arms and pressed their foreheads together, beginning to sob. He was so afraid of what could be happening to Crowley in Hell, and of having to spend eternity without him. It wasn't fair. Crowley didn't deserve this!

With tears running freely down his face, he sat up and turned his head towards heaven.

_He loved your creation. He saved the world. He may have been a demon, but he was never evil or cruel. Even if he didn't like to hear it, he was far kinder than any other angel. Noone deserves a fate like this, but least of all Crowley. Please. If you ever loved him, please bring him back!_

Aziraphale felt his heart beat almost out of his chest, as he waited for something, _anything_ , that showed him he might have been heard. In the end, he curled back around Crowley's body, the weight on his chest and his tears threatening to choke him.

\--------

The Ineffable Plan was much broader than most might think. And not all and every event in history was planned out. It contained shoulds and possibilities. Things that will happen and things that might not happen and things that will be influenced by either of those previous things. 

In the beginning, she had set up the pieces in a way that would guarantee the Plan to work, but then she had let them go and do their own thing, so of course surprising events might happen. God, after all, played an ineffable game, and sometimes, unexpected things happen in games when you're not controlling everything. And she didn't want to control everything.

This was a bit more worrying than others though, because it had the potential of ruining the whole Plan, but it was anything she couldn't fix.

She had done the equivalent of scooping her hands around Crowley when he had died and brought him to her. Because he _had_ died. Full-on died. His ties to Hell were severed, and he didn't just appear in his non-corporeal form down there. Even his non-corporeal form had died. All that was left was what was basically his soul or essence, what made him _him_.

Matter flowed into form in front of her, and she weaved his essence into it. She decided that everything thing should stay the same, except for a little present.

His wings portrayed the night sky, the galaxies and stars and nebulas she knew he loved so dearly. It would differentiate him from Angels or Demons, and she hoped he liked her gift.

When she was done, she thought about a name for her new creation. It should be derived from a human language, she thought. The words Angel and Demon were made before the first languages, but this new creation belonged on earth and should be named by something from earth.

After a few moments, she knew a name. Eleth. _Free, unrestrained, quit_. Greek, spoken by quite a few well-known people, who wanted to know how the world worked. Who _questioned_.

She didn't want to leave the Principality waiting any longer, so she gently placed her new creation back in the room. Wistfully he glanced at the angel. Maybe one day she would get to make him into an Eleth as well when she didn't have to painfully rip his essence out of his body. 

It would mean he had to die beforehand, but then they both would truly and completely be on _their own side_.

\--------

Aziraphale was still hunched over the body. He didn't have any more tears to spill, and the quiet sounds of despair he couldn't stop sounded wrecked. When he sat up a little to brush a strand of hair that had fallen into Crowley's face, out of the way, he saw something in one of the corners of the room. 

Surprised, he straightened up.

Two dark wings were curled around someone, shielding them from view. They were like nothing he had ever seen. White dots were sprinkled over black, with a shimmer of dark blue, and they almost seemed to twinkle. They looked like the night sky. And just like the night sky, the longer he looked, the more stars he saw, some smaller some bigger until he noticed the subtle hues of nebulas that colored the feathers. They were absolutely beautiful.

His staring was interrupted when they slowly began to unfurl and reveal a person hidden behind them.

Aziraphale's eyes widened in shock as he saw a very familiar face and body emerge. His eyes sprang back and forth in disbelief between the body in his arms and the person in the corner.

He didn't know if he was dreaming, or maybe his prayer had been heard, but he carefully laid the lifeless body onto the ground before standing up and making his way over to the person. Some sad and hopeless part of himself didn't want to call them "Crowley" yet, even though he knew that face, that red hair and those gangly limbs by heart because he couldn't bear the thought of being wrong.

The person was kneeling on the floor, dressed in only a simple grey tunic, and looked around the room. Aziraphale had to stifle a gasp when familiar golden snake eyes landed on him. He thought he’d never get to see them again. A piece of that sad part in him crumbled, and he moved to sit in front of Cr- the person.

"Crowley…" he breathed in hopeful disbelief. Fresh tears were beginning to form in his eyes as he spoke. "I thought you were dead…" He was getting choked up.

Cr- The pers- Crowley _~~please~~_ was looking at him with an unreadable expression.

"I-" he broke off to cough. It sounded like he wasn't used to speaking. He continued in a quiet confused tone. "I'm… I'm sorry… but… Who are you? Do you… Do you know me? Who am I?

\--------

Somewhere God went "whoops."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was brought to you by "I have work to do, but instead I wrote this".
> 
> I got the name "Eleth" for the new creation from the Greek word "Eléftheros", meaning free, unrestrained and quit, like it said in the text. I don't know if it's actually a good name, but it's all I got xD
> 
> And I wanted to thank all the wonderful people who gave kudos and/or commented. Truly, thank you so much.


	3. Let's go Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a few moments ago, he was mourning over the body of his dead love, and now he was sitting in front of him, very much alive but without his memories! And his wing had changed too! What was going on here?!

Aziraphale blinked a few times. He felt like he had whiplash from the events of the day. Just a few moments ago, he was mourning over the body of his dead love, and now he was sitting in front of him, very much alive but without his memories! And his wing had changed too! What was going on here?!

Then he remembered Crowley had just asked him a question. "Yes- ahm- Yes, I know you. My name is Aziraphale, and we're- You're-" he stammered. 

He didn't know how to handle this situation. Should he say that they were together? Or maybe that they were friends? He’d hurt Crowley so many times by denying what they truly were, that now it felt utterly wrong. But Crowley was looking at him with such an innocent expression of open curiosity. Would dropping the relationship bit right away be a bit too much?

In the end, he decided it would only become more of a problem, the longer he kept it a secret.

"You're Crowley. You and I are in a relationship. We're partners." he explained and couldn't help but smile. No matter how many times he's said it in the past, it always made slightly giddy. "What do you remember? What happened?" he asked.

"I don't know… I don't think… I remember… anything…" He seemed to still be a bit uncertain about speaking. "Is that bad? I should remember things… shouldn't I? I don't- I don't- I don't know how I can talk." he said a bit breathlessly, and panic was edging into his voice. "Words, I- I know words, and I don't even know what they are! What they mean! I don't know what- what anything is! How- I don't-" Crowley had wrapped his arms around himself, wings drawn in tight, and was staring at Aziraphale in desperation.

"Hey, no, it's okay!" Aziraphale was quick to reassure him. He had raised his hands to touch him, but decided against it, and now they were just hovering uselessly in the air. Maybe touch would only overwhelm him more.

"It's okay to not remember anything, really it is. You’ve spoken this language for a lot of years now, and it's probably almost instinctual at this point. You don't have to remember anything. We're going to figure it out." Then his voice took on a softer tone. "I'm here. I know you. And I'll help you. You're not alone in this."

Crowley still looked frightened, but he managed a little nod and began to slowly unwrap himself. He tentatively reached out to one of Aziraphale's hands and carefully touched the back of it. The contact seemed to scare him for a moment, but then he did it again. This time his fingers stayed and he looked up. Maybe in search for approval or guidance, Aziraphale wasn't sure. Still, he smiled and slowly turned his hand around to hold Crowleys loosely, so he could pull away if he wanted.

"I think it would be best to get you back to the bookshop, and we can start to figure it out from there." Aziraphale suggested. 

The other looked confused, and quickly he added "It's where I live, and you too, most of the time." They had talked about properly moving in together in the past weeks, and he smiled at the memory. That would have to wait now, but he had all the time in the world.

Not letting go of his hand, Aziraphale stood up and held out his other for assistance. Crowley unfolded his legs and tried to push himself up, but he lost balance almost immediately. Quickly Aziraphale grabbed him by the arm and pulled him closer to hold him steady against his chest. Once he realized how close they were, he stepped back a little bit, not wanting him to be uncomfortable. But he still kept his hands where they were. He couldn't bring himself to let go completely.

After the initial stumble, Crowley was still a bit more wobbly than usual, but he seemed to be able to stand.

"Are you okay to walk, love?" he asked in concern, and the endearment slipped out without his permission. He didn't want to make Crowley uneasy. The other only knew him for only a minutes, after all.

"Yeah… I think so. Slowly please." he answered.

"Yes, of course. Is it okay if I hold you to make sure you don't fall?" he questioned, but he didn't want to let go.

"I'm not actually sure how to walk." Crowley said and gave him a half-embarrassed smile. "So please do."

"Oh, yes. Don't worry. One foot in front of the other, and I'll be here to make sure you don't fall. I'm certain it's just as instinctual as talking, so you'll get the hang of it quickly." he reassured him and began to turn around.

He froze when he caught sight of the body still lying in the summoning circle.

 _Oh._ He'd forgotten about that.

Aziraphale didn't know what to do with Crowley's old body. He’d never been discorporated in front of Azirapahle before. Miraciling it away seemed wrong and way too impersonal, but should he bury it? Would Crowley want that, if he still had his memories? Would he care? 

His fretting was interrupted by Crowley, who saw the body too. "Who's that? Are they okay?"

"Oh, ahm… Before you appeared here something ahm… _happened_ … And that's probably also the reason you lost your memories. You- That is to say- Well… There's really no way to put it lightly. You… You died. And that's your old body…" he explained uneasily, then fixed his gaze at him to gauge his reaction.

Crowley was staring at the body. "That's… that's me?" he asked in a small voice.

"Yes…" he answered softly.

For a few seconds, both of them were quietly looking at the form in the circle. Without the blood, it would almost look like he ~~it? What do you call a dead corporation?~~ was sleeping. Crowley broke the spell of silence that had settled over them, when he took a small step forward.

With Aziraphale's assistance, he made his way over to his old body. He looked down at it with a conflicted expression.

"I didn't know what I looked like." he whispered. Then he swallowed and continued in a slightly louder voice. "How did I die?"

Aziraphale knew the question would come up eventually, he'd just hoped it wouldn't be so soon. "You were killed. When I got here you were already dead… I tried to heal you, but-" A strangled sound left him as he was hit with a horrifying realization.

He didn't actually know if Crowley had been dead when he arrived. _Oh G- what if he'd been still alive?!_ When he lost control of his emotions and... _dealt_... with the people responsible, he didn't spare a thought to check if Crowley was dead, he just assumed! _Oh, no no no!_

"Hey, no, it's okay." Crowley's voice cut through his panic. He had laid his own hands on Aziraphale's arms and squeezed them gently. "That's me, right? So… so I'm still here. And I might not remember anything, but if- _when_ I get my memories back and- and then I'll be him- me again, and I didn't die! It's going to be okay." he said with a slightly unsure smile.

 _Oh, Crowley…_ Aziraphale thought. Even though he didn't remember anything, he still tried to comfort him. 

He could deal with all these emotions later, so he shoved them wherever his guilt about killing the summoners was hidden. Taking a breath, he turned to Crowley.

"Thank you. Now let's get you to the bookshop." he said resolutely.

"What about the body?"

"I'll think of something. Until then, I'll keep it safe." he smiled with more confidence than he felt and snapped his finger. The body was safely miracled to the bed in Crowley's flat and to not decompose. The thought of it just lying there was mildly unsettling but again: things he would deal with later.

The two of them slowly made their way out of the basement and to the front yard. Walking seemed to take a bit longer to get the hang of than talking, but when they were outside, it was becoming easier.

"The bookshop is a while away, and I'm not particularly keen on taking any sort of public transport right now, so I'll fly us there." Aziraphale began. "If you'll allow it, I'll carry you. Flying can be pretty tiring."

"Yeah sure, but won't that be exhausting for you, if you have to carry me too?"

"Don't worry, love. My corporation wasn't actually built to sit around reading all day. I was made to be a guardian, so I can handle flying while holding you. Oh, you'll have to put your wings away though, they would catch the wind and create drag." he told him. He'll have to inform him about hiding them in front of humans too, as well as his eyes and other powers. But explaining humanity right now, seemed like too big of a task. One thing at a time.

"How do I do that?" Crowley asked curiously.

"Wings are hidden in a little pocket dimension." he started before he realized that Crowley had no idea what that was. All his metaphors, to help describe the process, required some kind of knowledge. Then he thought of something and slipped off his coat, showing it to him. "It's like putting on this coat. I slip my arms in the sleeves, and then you can only see the fabric, not what's underneath." He demonstrated, just for good measure, and put it back on.

"Now, to hide your wings, imagine an invisible coat and slip your wings inside. Since they're covered by something invisible, no one can see them." Aziraphale explained and beamed, quite proud of himself.

Crowley nodded and closed his eyes to better focus. He scrunched his eyebrows up in concentration, and Aziraphale would never tell Crowley that he found it quite adorable. After a few seconds, Crowley's wings disappeared.

"Well done, love." Aziraphale praised. Though he was just a little sad to not be able to see the beautiful feathers anymore. But the radiant smile he received was quick to make up for it. He really wished Crowley would respond to praise better when he had his memories.

"Alright. I'm going to pick you up now, okay?"

Crowley nodded again. "Okay."

Putting one hand behind his knees and one on his back, Aziraphale lifted him. He never cared about keeping in shape, but still, Crowley weighed almost nothing to an angel literary built to be strong and guard (even if that angel had failed that task quite spectacularly).

"It's going to take a bit before we're there and it's going to get windy up there, you might want to close your eyes." he cautioned as he spread his own wings. "Are you ready?"

Crowley held onto the front of his coat and then replied "Yes, you can start." He'd known Crowley long enough to know he was just putting on a brave face, and he tightened his grip in the hopes of reassuring him a little.

"Don't worry, I've got you. It'll be over before you know it." Aziraphale said.

After another nod from him, he flapped his wings a few times before lifting them both off the ground. They had luck, the wind was blowing in the right direction, and soon they were flying towards London, a miracle keeping them hidden from anyone below.

He still knew the way he had come and easily followed it. Walking may have taken longer, but flying was really only for use in emergencies. Angels were made for flying in heaven, not earth, and the physics of things behaved quite differently. Sure, for a short flight it wasn't a problem, but when the bookshop came into view, Aziraphale was about ready to collapse.

His wings and back hurt like they were on fire, and he hoped he hadn't overdone it and pulled something, as he landed in front of the shop. Winges are part of their original form and harder to heal.

No one noticed them arriving and a lot of people had suddenly decided they had much more important things to look at, then the winged person carrying someone else.

Aziraphale carefully set Crowley back down on his own feet. He gazed at the Bentley still parked on the side and took a moment to catch his breath before he spoke.

"Let's get inside, shall we? I'll make tea, and then we can start to figure out what happened, okay love?"

"Yeah, sure." Crowley was looking around the street. His eyes were wide as he took in the people, various store windows and buildings around them. Aziraphale noted that he shied away from any passersby, that got close to them, and he jumped at the sounds of cars or other sudden noises.

"Come in, love." he quickly ushered Crowley into the shop before he got too overwhelmed, and led him to the back room. "Make yourself comfortable, I'll be right back with something to drink."

Once he was in the kitchen, he turned on the kettle and waited for the water to boil. Staring into nothing and leaning with both hands on the counter, he let out a long sigh.

Today had been… a bit much. The worry, the anger, the grief, but in the end, he hadn't lost Crowley. Not really. He might be missing his memories, and his wings had changed, but he was alive. That's what mattered and what he needed to focus on.

While the tea steeped, he was already going through a mental list of things he needed to do.

  1. Get Crowley comfortable (he must be terribly scared and confused)
  2. Find out if he remembers anything
  3. Roughly explain the world to him
  4. Do research on memory recovery (hopefully it would still apply under these less than normal circumstances)
  5. Get Crowley's memories back



He nodded to himself as he set the teacups, a small pot of milk and sugar on a tray. Picking it up and heading back to Crowley, he was ready to tackle step one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Human (or person shaped being) interactions are hard enough in real life, and as it turns out, not much better when writing them xD  
> And I'd love to respond to your comments, since they mean so much to me, but as you might've guessed from the above, I'm no good at conversations of any kind. But really, thank you for leaving comments or kudos!

**Author's Note:**

> If you find any spelling or grammar mistakes, please feel free to tell me. English isn't my first language.  
> The same goes for constructive criticism btw! I'd really appreciate both.  
> Thank you so much for reading <3


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